Love And War (15 page)

“If we've any sense at all, we'll make for home ourselves after we've delivered this lad
and his message.”

That was not what the half-elf had expected to hear. “Back to Solace this early in the
summer?”

Flint was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke at last his voice was rough. Almost cold,
Keli thought.

“I thought he was dead,” Flint said, and Keli knew it was Tas of whom he spoke. "I really
did. I didn't fear it. Fear still allows you to slip hope in behind it. I thought he was
dead from the minute I saw my mark 6n that rock, and I didn't expect to find anything else.

“It is a bad thing to be without hope.” He cleared his throat softly and went on. “And
Caramon. When he didn't come up from the lake, when Sturm had to dive to find him, I
thought, between the first time and the last, that he was dead, too.”

Keli felt that fear, and heard it in the dwarf's voice. His eyes were not so hard now, his
expression not nearly as forbidding as it had been. An odd look graced his rough features,
but Keli could not put a name to it. He'd seen the look before on his father's face.

Tanis poked up the fire and by its flare Keli saw that he, too, had thought his friends
dead. When he spoke, though, it was not to reassure himself but Flint. “They're all right
now.”

The old dwarf drew a long breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. He looked at his young
friends sleeping around the fire: Caramon, his scabbarded sword lying near to hand; Sturm,
who slept deep and looked as though he could wake fast at need; Raistlin, likely walking
in dreams only he could understand; and Tas, curled like an exhausted pup against
Caramon's back. When the dwarf spoke again, Keli sensed that some decision was being made.
He sat forward and listened.

“Aye, Tanis, they are. But the lands are changing, lad. I feel it in my bones that things
are shifting, growing darker. At first it was good to have them along on these trips for
their company. Lately, it's been good having them along because I could not ply my trade,
such as it is these days, along the old routes without them. Look at what happened to the lad here! Goblins
and bandits! And rumors of worse and stranger things haunt the roads now.”

Tanis reached out absently to ruffle Keli's hair. “You'll not keep them safe in Solace by
wishing it so, old friend.” “No, I know them better than that. And we're partners you and I, have been for a long time. This isn't a decision I can rightly make for both of
us.“ Flint shook his head. A smile warred with a scowl. The scowl won, but only barely.
”And we don't get much done these days chasing that pesty kender from one end of the land
to the other, do we? No, home sounds better and better to me.”

As hard as the dwarf was to read, that was how easy it was to divine Tanis's thought:
plainly he doubted that Solace would keep Tas or any of his friends long for all that it
seemed to be home. But aloud he only said, “All right, then, Flint. Home it is, for Keli
and for us.”

Solace won't keep them long, Keli thought. Hawks may grace your wrist for a time, his
father had once told him, but they do not domesticate well at all.

Now, Flint leaned forward and gently roughed the sleepy boy's chin. “Home, aye, lad?”

Keli smiled in the night's shadow. “Oh, aye, home.” By the Measure Richard A. Knaak His head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. He had neither eaten nor slept for two days
- not since burning Standel after a day of mourning. Standel, his one companion. The only
other knight to accompany him on his flight from an Order that had decayed. Brave, strong
Standel. He had never understood his own death.

Garrick scanned the terrain as well as his bleary eyes were able. More of the same.
Villagers were coming from the south, away from the advancing army sent by the Dragon
Highlord. They were seeking protection from the garrison at Ironrock. The knight smiled
bitterly through cracked lips. How long did they think a garrison of one hundred men was
going to hold out against an army one hundred times its size? Not to mention the added
pressure of trying to feed several hundred refugees.

He steered Auron away from the group. The war-horse turned reluctantly, perhaps sensing
the grain the people carried. The horse had been forced to subsist on what little it could forage in this bleak area. Garrick sympathized with its plight, his own last meal
having consisted of a handful of berries and some cheese and hardbread bought from the
innkeeper who had been indirectly responsible for Standel's death. The lands he had
traveled through since offered nothing in the way of sustenance. The inhabitants
themselves had long ago spirited away anything edible.

He could not believe what the Order had become. The older knights smiled patronizingly at
his plaints;

some of the younger ones scoffed. Some understood him, though. Understood that even the
Knights of Solamnia had turned away from Paladine more than they admitted. The Knights
were no longer an Order that aided the repressed so much as a petty sect living on its
past glories and shunning those they believed had turned on them. Never mind that the
Order had such black marks as Lord Soth to live down.

In his worn state, he did not notice the second group of villagers until they were almost
on him. Like so many before, they spat at him as they passed and cursed him for being what
he was. A stocky man with slightly gray hair and a perpetual scowl blocked his path with
an open cart drawn by two oxen. Several other villagers stood behind the man.

“What do you want here, oh great and noble knight?” The venom fairly dripped from his
mouth.

Garrick sighed. “I have sworn by the Measure that I will defend my fellow men from the
evil that is the Queen. I intend to keep that pledge.”

They laughed. Laughed loudly. The laughter was magnified a thousand times in Garrick's
mind, though he knew it would come. It always had. The loud, bitter laughter.

The stocky leader stepped closer, his eyes shifting back and forth between the knight and
the warhorse. It was obvious that he did not trust either of them. Closer now, he studied
Garrick's battered armor, the chipped and bent weapons, his pale and sweating face.

“Aye, you look like a terror that will frighten away the dark ones. Frighten them into
conquering the world, I'd say!”

There was more laughter, though much more muted than before. The looks the villagers gave
Garrick were ugly, full of hate. Hate for his not having been there when it counted. The
leader shifted closer, his intentions clear. Pull the knight down into the mud where he
belonged. The knight drew his well-worn blade with a speed that belied his weary appearance. He kept the group at bay with the weapon, allowing no one within arm's
length.

“For your own sakes, move on.”

Muttering, they did so, much more quickly and complacently than Garrick would have thought
possible for them. He realized why with a sadness that sank him deeper into the darkness
he had ridden in since Standel's death. He was nothing to them. If anything, they were
disgusted with him. Disgusted with all the knights.

It hurt Garrick that they had good reasons for their hatred.

The few huts he passed now were stripped of anything worth carrying. Mere shells.
Skeletons. It was as if the war had already been through here. In a sense, he realized,
perhaps it had. Standel would have been stronger, more able to cope with the shouts, the
curses, the looks. Garrick could not understand why he should live while a better knight
should die so ignominiously. Not for the first time since his companion's death, he
wavered slightly in his belief in the Measure.

The ground reached for him. Garrick steadied himself and wiped his brow. To collapse this
close, to leave his task unfinished, would be unforgivable. Paladine would surely condemn
him. He waited for exhaustion to overtake him, but something held back the final fall. A
warmth in his chest, around his neck. A feeling of guidance and love.

His shaking hand tugged hard on the chain circling his throat. The medallion given to him
so long ago gleamed despite the lack of any sunshine. On each side of the medallion were
engraved words from the Measure. More important, the medallion carried the face of
Paladine as known by the Knights of Solamnia.

The pain in his mind eased. Paladine had not condemned him after all. There was still some
purpose to Garrick's life, some reason the god still watched over him. He thanked his lord
and allowed the piece to thump against his chest again. Though his body was worn beyond
the limits of most men, he smiled gratefully. He would be allowed the chance to fulfill
his Oath.

Somewhere to the south lay his objective. Somewhere to the south, perhaps four days,
perhaps only two, lay part of the advancing army of the Dragon Highlord - a sizable
portion commanded by one of the Highlord's most dangerous generals. Pushing ever closer,
its only real obstacle was the tiny garrison four days north from Garrick's present
location.

They would be forced to travel through the woods to obtain the pass, he realized. In the
woods, they would be vulnerable. In the woods, he stood a chance.

He came across the bodies just after crossing a stream. They had been carelessly stacked
to one side. Plague victims. The stench nearly overwhelmed him. The knight shivered.
Better to die in battle than waste away in the end. He covered his nose and mouth with
tattered, dirty cloth and urged the warhorse to move at a quicker pace. That their loved
ones had left these poor shells to rot did not bother him. Now was a time to take care of
the living, to help those still with the breath of life within them. The dead were in no
hurry.

The light began to fade as the sun, hidden by clouds, plunged closer toward its own death.
Garrick eyed the huts in this region. Unlike those he had passed shortly before, these
were more or less whole. Knowing them to be contaminated, though, he could not bring
himself to rest in one. He dared not rest, anyway. Each moment was as precious to him as
if it were his last.

The woods came into view less than an hour later, marking the beginning of the pass even
before the great ridges that stood to each side. Garrick blinked, rather surprised that he
had made it this far. That in itself was a miracle. He gave thanks to Paladine and
suddenly felt warm all over.

The first trees were little more than stumps. This part of the forest had been raped by
the desperate villagers. Panic had finally taken over at some point. To one side was a
small stack of firewood. A little farther, a tree stood with its trunk chopped half
through. Idly, Garrick wondered if the woodsmen had fled because of plague or because of
the approaching horde.

Auron was hesitant to enter the woods and would do so only after much persuasion. Garrick
frowned. The warhorse was not prone to hesitancy. The knight put one hand on the hilt of
his sword, but did not draw it. With more urging, he managed to get the horse to move at a
reasonable pace.

The woods were deathly silent. No birds, no ground creatures. Not even the faintest hint
of a breeze. Auron snorted. Garrick tightened his hold on the sword. He searched for but
did not find any trace of draconian activity in the woods. The feeling of death was in the
air, though. It was as if animal life had abandoned this area to the Queen. Even the trees
seemed to have given up; many were obviously dying - another sign of things to come should
the armies of darkness emerge triumphant. He rode on. The night air cooled his burning head. He forgot some of his pain. To either side, the ridges grew higher and higher. Garrick pulled
his mount to a halt momentarily and picked out a likely spot on one ridge. Auron snorted
and would not move. The animal had given more than most and had finally reached its limit.
Even its training could not overcome such exhaustion.

Garrick patted the animal gently and dismounted. Leaving the horse to rest, he made his
way to the ridge top. It was steep but by no means impassable. Discarding some of his
heavier equipment, the knight made progress.

He thanked Paladine that it was not a long climb. The campfires became visible just after
he had cleared the tops of the trees. Further in, the pass sank deeply, giving him a much
better view of the region than he had hoped. Seeing the vast number of fires, Garrick knew
he had located the Queen's forces. They had dared to settle in an area where they could
easily have been trapped if there had existed an army to trap them. The northern garrison,
of course, was too small. All other resistance had been crushed. The commander of the army
had a right to be confident.

Tomorrow they would head through the pass and into the unprotected lands. It would not
take them long to reach the garrison then. The battle would be even shorter.

Once more, he wished that Standel had survived rather than he. Standel would have looked
at the massed forces and scoffed. He would have organized, would have planned. Garrick had
only a few wild ideas and a hope that Paladine would grant him the chance.

His head pounding, Garrick returned to his mount. The horse was grazing peacefully. He saw
no reason to disturb the animal. Auron had already performed miracles for his master. The
knight could not honestly ask for anything more. It was up to Garrick alone.

With shaking fingers, he pulled out the medallion. It was still warm to his touch and
seemed to shine even in the darkness. He caressed it for a moment and then sank to his
knees in prayer.

They came just before dawn.

He had just put out the last of the fires. Now he rested against the side of a tree, sword
drawn, shield ready. He had released Auron and sent him away, not wishing so loyal a beast
to perish for little reason.

The fires had been easy to build. The forest was dying;

branches littered the ground. Most were dry and made good kindling. The fires were strong,
though not long in burning themselves out. That they existed was more than sufficient for
Garrick's purposes.